I was on a train destined for Thornbury. What happened in the first five minutes of finding my seat can best be illustrated by the three texts below that I sent to George in quick succession, in response to his text asking where I was:

I’m on the stupid train waiting for it to leave the station at flinders! And trying to avoid eye contact with the creepy man sitting opposite me!

OMG HE JUST ASKED TO SIT NEXT TO ME!

Aaaaaaaaarggggghhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Then this happened:

Omg omg omg he just came over!!! Ew ew ew he’s talking to meeeee!!! Epping train wants to kill me!!! He’s asking me if I’m texting my friend and wants to pass on a message. I don’t know what it is yet.

At that point, two young guys, maybe late teens, got on the train. They took in my desperate situation at a glance and promptly started smirking. This set off the worst case of giggling hysteria I’ve ever had.

I will never know what message Crazy Man wanted to pass on to George because at that point I was shakingwith laughter with tears streaming down my face and gasping, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I. Can’t. Talk!’ while he looked at me with crazy eyes asking for the forth time where I’m heading to. Then he says:

Today it was very hot so I decided to be brave and wear shorts. This is brave because I am pasty white like a vampire, and not even Hot-Vampire-Pasty-White, just stupid pasty white like a person who never tans. And I try and get all superior about it and say ‘eeew, tans, so bad for you!’ but this is because I don’t have one.

But I thought I would practice wearing shorts and get over the whole pasty white thing and then I realised that pastiness was the least of my worries because every time I sat down my thigh rippled like a golf ball. And in case I am drowning in metaphor too much here (get it!?) what I am talking about people is CELLULITE. And there I am on the train rippling and trying to spread my bag all over my lap to cover it up and failing miserably and feeling terribly self conscious especially when a bunch of girls got on said train looking all annoyingly un-pasty and toned. Bitches.

I realise I was probably the only person in the whole world who noticed my golf ball thigh. But this is not the point. One person is enough to notice and so what if that person was me.

Luckily I was only going to my parent’s house, and it’s kind of the rule that parents think you look beautiful no matter what you look like, but I don’t think I’m going to manage shorts around anybody who is not immediate family anymore. It just stresses me out too much.

I am scared of, and hate with a passion, ladybugs. They trick you. They crawl on your arm, and you’re like, heeeey ladybug, let’s put you on this little leaf here. And so you do and you go inside, and you open the fridge to get like, some milk or something, and you look down and the ladybug is back on your arm. And you’re all, that’s so weird, the ladybug is back, I was pretty certain I put him on leaf just a minute ago. So you put down the milk and go outside and you put the ladybug on ANOTHER leaf feeling all virtuous that you’re ‘saving’ this ladybug and making him happy all chilling out on the leaf and shit.

And then you might leave your house, and get on a train or something, and you go all the way across the city and you get off the train and you feel a tickle on your arm and you look down and SOMEHOW THE LADYBUG IS BACK.

What. The. Fuck. The above is an Actual True Story.

Ladybugs are evil. They are just another bug that looks pretty and this is on PURPOSE so they can manipulate the human race. Don’t trust that shit.